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BY THE WAYSIDE 

By O, CHESTER BRODHAY 





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BY THE WAYSIDE 



BY THE WAYSIDE 



By 



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CHESTER BRODHAY 

(Author of Verses of Idle Hours) 



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CHICAGO 

THE LIBBY COMPANY 

1922 



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COPYRIGHT 1922, BY 
THE LIBBY COMPANY 



©CI.A6619 93 



INDEX 

Page 

LAURETTE 9 

AS SOMETIMES HAPPENS 23 

WHAT IS JUSTICE? 24 

A TOILER'S MUSING 25 

BUT A MEMORY 26 

MISTAKEN 28 

ONE AFTERNOON ........ 30 

THE GOAL 31 

HIS PHILOSOPHY 33 

COULD WE BUT SEE THEM 34 

THE GREAT DESIRE 35 

SACRIFICE 36 

OPPORTUNITIES 37 

ONE NIGHT 38 

THE EVERPRESENT ONE 39 

THE GREAT "I AM" 41 

THE PANACEA 43 

BEYOND THE CITY'S LIGHTS 44 

SELF-DECEPTION 45 

AND A LITTLE CHILD MAY— 46 

THE CALL 47 

THE RESPITE 48 

A WIFE'S COLLOQUY 49 

THE DREAMER 52 

AS A MAN THINKETH 54 

V 



Page 

THE FADED GARMENT 56 

AT THE DOOR 58 

HIS CROSS 59 

RECOGNIZED 61 

TO THE ROAD 63 

WHY? 65 

YESTERDAY AND TODAY 66 

A VICTIM 67 

THE DARKENED VISION 68 

SANDY 69 

AS SOMETIMES HAPPENS 71 

VALLEY OF DESPAIR . . ' 73 

AN AUGUST DAY 74 

SOMETHING TO THINK ABOUT .... 75 

THE GREAT ACHIEVEMENT ..... 76 

HELL 77 

HEAVEN 79 

THEIR COURTSHIP 80 

IN THE SILENCE— 81 

GRATITUDE 83 

GENIE 84 

DOWN AT THE MARKET-PLACE .... 88 

REJOICE 90 

THE WAYS OF MEN . - 91 

IN THE ALLEY 94 

EVERYWHERE 95 

BEYOND THE TURNSTILE 96 

THE FALSE 99 



Page 

MIRAGES 101 

THE REBUKE 103 

WHO KNOWS 104 

THE SONG OF DAWN 105 

MAKE-BELIEVE 107 

THE OFFENDERS 109 

HOW WONDERFUL . 110 

THE SEAMLESS GARMENT. ..... Ill 

THE ONE THING 112 

LJKE THE WIND THAT SIGHS 113 

LIMITATION 115 

ANTIPODES . 116 

DARKNESS . 117 

IN THE WORDS OF A PROPHET . . . .118 

A DREAM OR A TRAGEDY 119 

ABOVE AND BELOW 121 

THE LAD UPON THE FENCE 122 

REALIZATION 125 

SOMETHING TO THINK ABOUT .... 127 

IDLE HOURS . 128 

CARRY ON 129 

SONG TO THE DAY 130 

THE UNDISTURBED 132 



LAURETTE 

It was spring. 

We planted a slip of a rosebush 

Close to the garden shed ; 

A tiny sprig, so delicate, so frail, 

A living human thing 

To Laurette and me. 

For weeks we watched it grow. 

In the early hours of the morning. 

Half clad, 

Down the garden path I'd run 

In search of some new shoot 

That might appear 

And then with wild-eyed joy and breathless 

speech 
Would bring to her 
The message of my great discovery. 

Expectant days of spring 

Grew heavenly with fulfillment. 

The warm sun, like a charmed magnet, 

Coaxed the moisture from the ground 

And wove the vapors into a filmy veil 

Embellishing the woods and fields 

With its mystic beauty. 



The pale green grass upon the hills 

Looked like fresh paint 

Upon an unfinished canvas. 

Patches of dandelions 

Scattered sunshine here and there. 

Far down our street the carpenters were 

busy 
Hammering and sawing. 
A new house arose 
Where once a beaten path 
Led straight down to the creek; 
Just such a home as Laurette and I would 

build, 
Some day — somewhere. 

Across the road, 

Where it turned into a lane, 

A box-elder hedge enclosed an old estate ; 

Where to trespass would have been 

A grievous wrong. 

A tall wrought-iron gate 

And two large boulders — one on either 

side — 
Freshly white-washed. 
Suggested to my youthful mind 
The gates of Paradise; 
A great horse-chestnut tree that stood 

close by, 

10 



Though still in dishabille — 

Suggested solemn Peter 

Guarding the entrance to forbidden lands. 

Laurette would never pass this silent sen- 
tinel 
Alone. 

Some fancied ill, some childish fear, 
Lurked in the sombre shadow 
It cast across the path ; 
But hand in hand, we two 
Would often trudge this most enticing lane, 
And here would pledge our love 
Upon the shrine of childhood innocence. 

Though many a summer's grandeur waned. 

And autumn's dazzling splendor passed 

And scarred and lifeless sticks and twigs 

Marked the trail of winter's ravages, 

Each spring our rosebush grew 

To be more beautiful. 

To me, its fragrance breathed the spirit of 

Laurette. 

I could not entertain the one without the 

other. 
To pick a bud or flower from the leafy stems 
Was like the severance of some mortal 

member 
From its rightful place. 

11 



Though, once each year, I never failed 
To place within her arms, 
Its choicest flowers. 

One day a great awakening came, 

As awakenings often do. 

Out of nowhere into stern reality. 

They were to take my own Laurette from 

me 
Beyond the woods and hills, 
To where the big black trains 
Go racing. 

How often at sundown, 
We had watched these flying monsters 
Speed on their way and fade from sight 
Into the great unknown. 
And as the evening shadows 
Engulfed the earth in mystery 
And stars came blinking into life, 
What dreams we carried home with us. 

Again, I hear the noise of hammers and of 

saws. 
But the men are not the same 
I saw that spring. 
They come not to build houses, 
To make cheer, 
But to dismantle, to disrobe the home, 

12 



To make the heart grow faint. 
At last their work is done ; 
The noise is heard no more. 
And then the neighbors come 
To say farewell. 

How strange now are the once familiar 
rooms, 

How loud the foot falls upon the denuded 
floors ; 

The hollowness rebounds upon the ears 

And oppresses the senses. 

The sunlight lies dusty gray upon the win- 
dow panes — 

A sudden chill overwhelms my being. 

I hear the whistles of the big black train, 

Its noisy shriek 

Ere it flashes into view. 

I stand with cap in hand. 

The pounding of my heart 

Beats loud and fast, 

Louder and faster than the nervous monster 

That puffs and thrumps and fumes, 

That steadies slowly, 

Then dashes onward. 

Straight down the tracks, 

Across the bridge — beyond the creek, 

Into the woods, 

13 



With only a crape of smoke 
Fluttering before my eyes. 

Seasons have come and gone— 

And now it is autumn : 

The sun's red blood lies splashed 

Upon the western horizon. 

I am thinking of Laurette — 

Of the rosebush, 

Of the bitter nights and frosty morns 

That laid it low. 

Far from that childhood play-ground 
My wayward feet have trod ; 
The ashes of ten years lie 
Upon the dust-pan of today. 
The friends of boyhood, but chaff 
Sped by the winds. 

Sometimes a half-forgotten face 

Flashes across my vision, 

Or a once familiar voice 

Breaks the silent chambers of my memory. 

I have heard the cry of the coyote by night, 

The scream of the eagle by day ; 

The unceasing roar of cataracts, tumbling 

Three hundred feet below ; 

The death-knell of trees that were 

Kings for a thousand years. 

14 



I have seen the mists from the valleys 
Weave lavender veils about the mountain- 
sides. 
These same naked hills, scarred with 
Mines that made millionaires, 
Others that filled State asylums 
And poor-houses. 

I have helped build trestles that 

Span rivers and levelled gulches : 

Up dizzy heights my feet have climbed, 

Down swift flowing rivers I have paddled. 

I have seen noble impulses actuate 

The worst of men, 

And the worst of passions degrade 

The best of men. 

Heroism that put to shame all sense of self 

And cowardice that seared 

Like the burn of branded cattle. 

Today, I am back in a smoke begrimed city. 

The people crowd one another. 

Just as they did yesterday and the day 

before — 
And ten years ago. 
Boys have become young men, 
And the young men grown into maturity. 
Four-story buildings have made room for 

the 

15 



Monsters that tower twenty odd 
Stories against the skyline. 

Wherever you look, the activity of life, 

Quickens the pulse and pounds upon the 
ears. 

I hear the factory whistles blow. 

A few hurrying, scurrying men come down 
the yard 

Then more men; stern men, careless men. 

Indifferent men, rough men, meek men. 

Faster and faster until the very thorough- 
fare is choked : 

A living surging mass, moving on and on. 

Broadening and scattering 

Like so many leaves before the autumn 
wind, 

Swallowed up by the great city, 

In that magic niche called "home." 

The red ball in the west flattens 

And disappears among the darkening emb- 
ers that burn out. 

How dismal now looks the yard with the 
workers gone. 

Dark shadows lie upon the ground along 
the lumber piles — 

Like deep ravines. 

A lantern flashes down the path — 

16 



The path that leads straight to the factory: 
A watchman on his nightly rounds. 

Darkness everywhere, spotted here and 

there 
With flickering street lamps 
And distant window lights. 
A brief respite for tired men and women — 
A measured hush, an ominous silence. 

I feel the mesmerism of toil, 
Of sweat, of want and woe, 
The cold indifference that makes strangers 
of neighbors. 

At last I am at home ; 

Not the home I knew as a boy. 

But ten floors up ; 

Alone but not lonesome ; 

Neglected but not hurt. 

I am learning that life's dreams 

Must be chiseled into actualities. 

I am measuring myself, condemning myself. 

Ascertaining my true height 

Without standing on tiptoes. 

The moon is rising high above the buildings 
That rise like bulwarks from the narrow 
streets below. 



17 



The incessant noises that drum upon my 

ears 
Bring visions of the fall of Babylon. 
Twenty-five hundred years have passed, 
Since that historic avalanche, 
Yet I can hear the tumult of that day ; 
"Babylon the great has fallen" — 
"Babylon the great has fallen" — 
That the star of Bethlehem should shine. 
That out of the chaos of every life, 
Should come the birth of a new idea. 

I have been looking at things from the hill- 
tops, 

But now I am groping in the valleys of 
decision. 

The dust stifles and the rocks bruise my 
feet, 

But I am gaining a truer sense of propor- 
tions. 

Today it comes to me in the desire for 
greater activity. 

Greater love, greater achievement, 

And blessed am I in knowing 

That every day is Thanksgiving day. 

Winter has passed, spring is here, 
And new-born hopes arise like 
Grass upon the hillside. 

18 



I am dreaming again of meadows and green 

pastures, 
Clear skies and running brooks. 
Pungent odors of fresh earth 
Watered by the winter snows 
And the April rains, 
Of the southern birds that come 
To build their nests each year. 

Out in the parks the lilacs are blossoming, 

The care-free robin proclaims 

Its freedom in a song 

And frisks about snatching worms 

From the dew-drenched earth. 

Here and there, gardeners are seeding and 

harrowing. 
Each flutter of air that touches my cheek 
Is a kiss of love from the breath of life. 
I can hear the voice of one calling to be 

heard. 
The same plaintive cry 
I heard many years ago. 
I am thinking of Laurette — 
Of the rosebush, 
Of the bitter nights that laid it low. 

I resurrect a tear-stained letter, 
Laid away these many years, 
Telling of her father's death. 

19 



I read each word with all the emotion 

Of an earlier age. 

A well-spring of memories crowd upon me. 

I feel the loneliness of self-pity 

Like a cry in the wilderness. 

I hear the axalted thought of one 

Calling from the mountain-peak. 

I have felt it in the stilly night, 

In the strength of fervent aspiration. 

I have seen it in the soft shadows 
Mirrored in sunny streams, 
In every contrast that inspired. 
Barriers which the years have built, 
Are swept away like papier-mache. 

Today I stand again upon the station plat- 
form 
And watch the big black train 
Pufif and thump and fume, 
Ere it steadies for a dash 
Straight down the track. 

Where once a modest station stood, 
A more pretentious structure greets my 

eyes. 
Across the street, a new hotel. 
Flashes an electric sign. 
The ''Morning Chronicle" 

20 



No longer slumbers on the second-floor 

back, 
But in gold leaf, proclaims itself, 
From a groundfloor window pane, 
A next door neighbor to the Citizens Na- 
tional Bank. 

I leave the thoroughfare behind. 

In a nearby field I see a farmer 

Driving his unhitched horses to the barn ; 

Along the deserted railroad track 

A workman with his empty dinner pail 

Labors homeward. 

Swift flying martins are frolicking noisily 

overhead. 
From a nearby puddle 
A frog is croaking its evening praises. 
I see the self-same house I once called 

home — 
The well remembered shed — 
Now overgrown with purple clematis. 
And low the rosebush I thought dead. 
A thing more beautiful than my boyhood 

eyes beheld. 
Across the lawn, a white-clothed vision 

conies ; 
I watch her measured step. 
The grace and beauty of her supple form. 
Her soft brown hair looks darker 

21 



In the subdued light; 
Her face as peaceful as the closing day. 
At last she lifts her eyes, 
A startled look overspreads her face. 
I breathe, 'Xaurette" — 
Just a whisper, 

I see a quiver pass across her lips. 
But, like a queen, with wondrous self- 
control. 
She smiles most graciously, 
And offers me her dainty hand. 



22 



AS SOMETIMES HAPPENS 

He condemned himself 
Because of physical deficiencies. 
His body was like a tree 
Sprung up amid rocks, 
Defying the very elements, 
Dwarfed and scrawny because of it. 

Alone he stood 

In his isolated relation to the world, 

Weighing the actions of humanity. 

Men thought him queer, 

Yet he had ideas to make him great. 

He toiled that he might prove to men 

A mind not fashioned to deformity 

A power greater than the thing they saw. 

The world would have called him a genius, 

Had fate dealt more kindly with him. 

He died before his earthly mission seemed 

fulfilled, 
And others reaped the worldly benefits of 

his toil. 



23 



WHAT IS JUSTICE? 

My brothers and your brothers — 

Today I saw them behind locked doors. 

Bars stood between us 

And between them and the streets. 

Boys who have fathers and mothers 

Who weep — 

Men who have wives 

With instincts to live and to love 

And children with affections as well as 

bodies 
Famishing for nourishment. 
The law is meant to deal justice 
To the breakers of law. 
And to those who obey the law, 
To those who are weak, 
And to those who are strong? 
Then — what is justice? 



24 



A TOILER'S MUSING 

Today is as yesterday 
And all yesterdays crowded with toil. 
Up with the sun in the summer; 
Chores to be done before breakfast; 
Out into darkness when winter comes ; 
Kids a-crying when he leaves home; 
Kids a-crying when he comes home; 
Noise a-pounding in his ears all day. 

Figuring the dollars to outwit old age, 
When fingers are stiff and hair turned gray, 
When shop-worn, marked-down, like dam- 
aged goods ; 
With pay-days lean and all things black — 
When of a sudden a smile lights his face. 
"By Gad," one thing he knows will be sure : 
The kids will be men and women some day. 



25 



BUT A MEMORY 

He always knew her as a strange child 

Dreaming dreams 

Of the moon and stars. 

Of the woods and the fields. 

She never enjoyed his playgrounds : 

The streams, the rivers, the bay . . 

She shrank from the noise of the waves 

And stopped her ears 

When asked to listen to their music. 

She worried when he told her 

He wanted to be a sailor 

To sail the seas ; 

To dehght in chasing nymphs 

That dance upon the waves ; 

To be lashed to the mast 

When the wiilds howl 

And the thunder roars — 

A captain at his post. 

They were children then. 

When she grew up, she studied art ; 

She wrote many verses 

And Vv^axed eloquent about concertos; 



26 



Music became her daily bread ; 
He often plagued her about it: 
"Verses," he said, were never for men 
And concertos all right at forty. 

She was always kind and he — 
Well, one day he awoke to find 
That her gentleness 
Was a shadow in the heat of noon 
And her presence a summer shower 
That perfumed the atmosphere — 
That was yesterday. 

Today the dust of the world 

Is in his nostrils; 

The activity of the present 

Stampedes his senses, 

And the past is but a memory. 



27 



MISTAKEN 

I never had known anything good about 

him, 
Neither could I call him any bad names. 
His manners always suggested — "Hands 

off." 
I never met him but what I wished to 

swap physiques, 
So that I might pummel him to twice his 

size — 
This was some years ago. 

Today I met him in a western mining camp, 

A dirt-stained, leather-skinned, sunken- 
eyed. 

Sinewed human tractor, 

That could mow down anything in his way ; 

Feared because of his fearlessness; 

Respected for his absolute disregard to 
danger. 

They told me he had saved many lives out 
there. 

So I recalled to him our former meeting. 



28 



Although his greeting caused my hand much 

pain, 
I noticed with some satisfaction 
The Hght in his eyes. 

What had tempered the man, I asked myself 
Had mine own disposition been transformed ; 
Or was it that the time and the place 
Gave to him a different setting? 
Later he asked me if I would take a message 
And a package, his entire savings — 
Home to his mother. 



29 



ONE AFTERNOON 

The atmosphere is Hmitless in Uicidity 

Like Hquid glass 

Rolled out unto the sky, 

With animate and inanimate objects 

Outlined in its depths . . . 

A certain melody diffuses itself 

Into the afternoon ; 

I know not whether it is 

The sigh of the winds 

Or the music of the spheres. 

Whether those I see and talk to 

Hear its harmony, 

Or out of the deep recesses of being, 

A companion of my dreams 

Is singing love-songs 

For my ears alone. 



30 



THE GOAL 

Through a pathless woods 

He fought his way, 

Where the underbrush was heavy 

And the fallen limbs were thick and tangled. 

At last he found himself free, 

In an open field 

Where the turf was green 

And patches of wild-flowers grew ; 

Birds were chirping 

And the warm sun embraced him. 

He followed a beaten path 

To a distant hill. 

Here in the shadow 

Sat a man with the seal 

Of "wisdom" on his forehead. 

The stranger asked 

Where he would go 

And straightway added: 

"There are six roads 

That lead into the great Beyond. 

Two of them" — he nodded — 

"You have already traveled. 

You have stumbled through the darkness 



31 



Of the one 

Into the awakening 

Of the other. 

Four more roads invite inspection. 

Three of them can be seen 

Beyond the hills, 

They are the roads to 

Experience : 

Trials, self-denials, suflFering, 

The other, though unseen, 

Is the confluence of them all. 

It is a single road 

That leads out of the mire 

Up to the peak of 

Understanding." 



32 



HIS PHILOSOPHY 

"Life," he mused 

"Is but a flowing stream 

And we are all 

Rocks or pebbles or sand or scum. 

The rocks with much commotion settle 

Down upon the river bottom. 

For settle down they must 

After stirring up the stream. 

Their effect is to purify, through action, 

Which carries away the scum. 

Pebbles never create much of a stir, 

There is little commotion, 

And the ripple is soon lost. 

But they are the great indispensable 

quantity, 
Whose effect collectively is immeasurable. 
The sand is that vast underlying element. 
Refining and supporting all. 
The scum is but a surface condition. 
That suggests all that is sluggish — 
It is inertia, the opposite 
Of that which stands for Life." 



33 



COULD WE BUT SEE THEM 

Where is the throng I mingled with all day? 
Scattered to the various nooks 
Which they call home. 
We see them, 

Not as brother sees his brother, 
But measured with the tape 
Of world-taught mathematics. 
Could we but see them as they now appear 
To those with whom they sit at meat, 
Or look into each anxious heart, 
As he or she travels alone 
Up the hill that hides tomorrow, 
More Christlike would our thoughts be- 
come. 



34 



THE GREAT DESIRE 

How appealing to our senses is comfort and 
ease ; 

How satisfying to have the appetites ap- 
peased. 

How pleasant to watch from a cosy room 

The raging storm without. 

Wealth we crave 

And health we struggle to possess or to 

retain ; 
Fame, that in our weakness we may be 

glorified ; 
At last to stretch our stiffening arms to 

Heaven 
And cry for light — 
When all the light there is 
Is Life. 



35 



SACRIFICE 

We think of sacrifice as giving up 

Something we would possess. 

There is no sacrifice; 

For self-denial is but one step 

Beyond that taken before, 

And brings us into possession 

Of what was heretofore unattained. 



Z6 



OPPORTUNITIES 

We think ourselves important 
As we struggle through the day. 
A certain pride sustains us 
In the duties we assume. 
Men call them burdens. 
Viewed in the light of Truth, 
They are but opportunities 
That develop strength. 



n 



ONE NIGHT 

I watched the clouds of fleecy white 

Speed across the evening sky. 

The moon arose above the pines 

That topped the hills, 

While deep shadows crept from the silent 

places 
And flecked the road like an ink-stained 

blotter. 
A chill Northerly wind blew the dead 

leaves 
From the stiffening limbs. 
The golden light that lay upon the barren 

fields 
Was like a smile upon a saddened face — 
It was October. 



38 



THE EVERPRESENT ONE 

You knew me ere I grew to know myself, 

In that age of mist 

So long ago . . . 

One day, I wandered from the place called 

home, 
To where my feet had never trod 
And all was strange; 
Where rows and rowfe of smoke-stained 

buildings 
Resembled embankments 
That damned the human streams 
Flowing between their walls ; 
Where the ceaseless noises multiplied 
And drowned the senses in confusion. 
Not knowing where to turn or what to do, 
I thought of Mother, far away. 
How she had taught me every night to 

pray— 
"God leadeth me." 
And, standing there, I saw a man 
Come straight to me and say, 
"You are the little man who lives across 

the street," 



39 



And when I felt his hand encircle mine, 
My heart rejoiced again in confidence. 

Out of the mist, a message speeds today. 
It travels now across the distant hills, 
Through silent woods, down valleys, over 

plains : 
It is the self-same voice that spoke through 

him who said, 
"You are the little man who lives across 

the street." 



40 



THE GREAT "I AM" 

I am mother of you all, great and small, 

You children and you old men, 

Mothers and those yet to be mothers — 

You belong to me. 

I am the ever present ONE: 

Whatever is, is the manifestation 

Of my activity. 

The slumbering stream, 

Pale as a day-time moon ; 

The overpowering ocean, 

Restless, fathomless, unconquerable; 

The caressing wind, 

Singing love-songs through the trees; 

The cattle in the field, 
Lowing cadences to Heaven ; 
The tiller of the soil. 
Sowing that he may reap ; 
And the elements 
That bring him harvest time ; 
All are my handiwork. 

I am the power 

That makes the sun to re-appear, 



41 



The light of stars 

That gives to night a charm, 

Instead of fear. 

I know all things : 

The deep things that lie hidden 

In the bowels of the earth, 

And the amplitude that stretches 

Beyond your vision here on earth. 

The whisperings of the forest 

Are a language known to me ; 

And the murmurings of the rivers, 

Not a mystery. 

The thoughts of the just 

Are music to my ears, 

And the planning of the unrighteous, 

Delusions of the dreamers. 

My glory is the harmony of Life. 

The uninterrupted activity 

Of the Universe. 



42 



THE PANACEA 

Sleep, thou art the twin brother to Death, 

Yet mortals seek thee 

Because of surcease from the senses — 

A release from the weariness of the flesh ; 

Yet I know that in thee 

Is never to be found 

The remedy for our ills, 

For in thought alone carrection lies — 

The panacea for inharmony — disease. 



43 



BEYOND THE CITY'S LIGHTS 

No longer do the noises of the night drum 

upon my ears ; 
The thunderous rumble of the L, 
The unceasing hum of speeding motors^ 
The muffled roar of the lake, 
The constant noises of the multitudes. 
Sheltered for the night amid the silences, 
I feel the presence of good fellowship 
I look into illimitable space 
Reaching out unto the heavens 
The miriad planets swimming in the distant 

nebulae, 
The darkened hills reclining upon the lap of 

Mother Earth, 
The slumbering fields dreaming away the 

hours — 
All things hushed in unlabored action. 



44 



. SELF-DECEPTION 

Family A. 

She was his wife, he knew her as a thing 
That toiled for him, glad to do his bidding; 
Beloved, because of comforts that she 

brought. 
He petted her, proud in his own conceit — 
Contented with so valuable a slave. 
And she, poor creature, thankful that he 

gave 
Unselfishly of all that he possessed — 
Struggled on most grateful to the end. 

Family B. 

He was her husband and he loved her much. 
He wearied not to gain her smile, her touch. 
He toiled for years that she might have her 

spoils ; 
The emptyness of vain desires fulfilled. 
He lived for days upon one false caress. 
Never conscious of her great selfishness. 
Pitying those less richly blessed than he 
And never knew the happiness he missed. 



45 



AND A LITTLE CHILD MAY— 

It is morning, the sun shines . . . 
Just a repetition of other mornings : 
The blue sky hangs overhead ; 
The bigness of the great outdoors 
Expands before your eyes ; 
The gift of Hfe 
Lies in the freshness of the 
Air you breathe. 

Buildings that represent 

Labor and sacrifice, 

The evolution of ages of thought ; 

Inventions it has taken ages 

To crystalize ; 

The very streets you walk — 

All concrete facts that would fill 

Volumes 

And yet, to you, common-place, perhaps. 

This morning, I had an awakening: 
I heard a child exclaim, 
"Look, Mother: see the sun shine, 
Isn't it wonderful." 



46 



THE CALL 

To you 

Who have not known 

The gnaw of hunger, 

The bitter dregs of poverty, 

The lash of biting cold, 

The burden of unceasing toil 

That warps the nature 

And breeds bitterness in the heart. 

To you 

Who Uve within walls of comfort. 

Who behold the world 

With that complacent air 

That knows no gratitude 

But accepts each gift 

That life bestows. 

As so much air you breathe. 

To you — 

Awake from this mesmeric dream 
Of self-corroding ease, 
And lend a hand 
Unto your brother man. 
You are the weak. 
The much to be despised, 
Drunken with self-indulgence. 
47 



THE RESPITE 

Today I am weary, weary in purpose. 

Weary with the constant strife 

To prove two and two make four. 

Weary because of the mists 

That hide the weaknesses 

I should disown. 

I know the compass points to North, 

Though my eyes tell me it is South. 

I know the mist will lift 

And the dust will settle. 

But the interim is sombre-dull . . 

It is the hour before the dawn. 



48 



A WIFE'S COLLOQUY 

This is our birthday, dear 

And I have just turned twenty-nine ; 

Ten years of married life 

For you and me, 

Which, measured by the happy hours 

Spent together. 

Seems ages since we started onward, 

Up the garden path of Hfe. 

My thoughts go back 

To one bright starry night in June : 

A little girl just back from school, 

Radiant with the pride of vain accomplish- 
ments 

And flushed with emotions of exuberant 
youth. 

The world 

Seemed such a labyrinth of beauty 

And the people 

Living elements of mystery. 

The night was radiant with intoxication ; 
The spirit of gaiety everywhere. 



49 



Music, people, warm hand-clasps, infectious 

merriment, 
Dazzling lights, perfumed atmosphere, 
The exciting touch of embracing dancers, 
All blending into one bewildering presence. 

The crowded room became too small 
To circumscribe the ardor of my years 
And when you boldly challenged me 
To a clandestine trip beyond the garden 

walk. 
How unhesitatingly I acquiesced. 
It was my first exciting escapade with you. 
And how you overwhelmed me with your 

love. 
My senses seemed to float amid the stars ; 
I scarcely heard the half you said, I only 

knew 
Heaven had opened wide for me. 

The obscure blue of the heavens 
Added depths to the ardor of my love. 
Filling illimitable space with emotional 

ecstasy. 
The myriad leaves cooed love-songs to the 

night. 
The silence in the adjacent meadows 
Accentuated the resplendent glory of your 

being. 

SO 



The years have since more than fulfilled 

The great expectancy of my soul. 

The love and gentleness you display ; 

The quiet firmness in everything you say. 

The strange indifference to the things 

Which would other men annoy. 

A certain poise I have tried hard to acquire 

But never have been able to attain. 

Often have I wondered, dear, 

What it was that made you look at me 

With such admiring eyes ; 

At one whose shallowness 

Was quite as clear 

As any rippUng stream I have looked upon. 

Perhaps the dazzling love-beams 

In my eyes that night 

Reflected something that your own 

Great soul illumed, 

And in its light you saw 

What my poor senses never did reveal. 



51 



THE DREAMER 

Today he arose with visions in his heart. 

The morning sun made butterfly wings of 
the cobwebs 

Which hung outside his dusty window 
panes. 

The sparrows chirped with tantalizing de- 
light. 

The warm September sun had stolen June's 
bridal veil 

And spread its filmy mist broadcast. 

The great out-doors, with all its activity, 

Was never before so appealing to his senses. 

The dull rumble of the city's life 

Crowded a thousand revelations into his 
thoughts. 

He sauntered aimlessly along the street. 

Shadows from tall buildings 

Accentuated the bands of light 

That lay across his path. 

What a riot of color everywhere. 

Bricks of red and brown and gray, 

Splashes of blue and green, and lavender 
and yellow. 



52 



From where he stood, he could see the river 

below, 
A house-boat moored to the dock ; 
Close by, a freighter 
Sky-rocketing a heavy cloud of smoke ; 
He thought of pictures he had seen 
Painted on smaller canvasses. 

The clanging bell of an approaching train, 
Rising above the constant hum. 
Drowned his senses in confusion. 
The shriek of battle cry was in his ears. 
The hiss of bursting bombs 
And crash of steel was in the air. 
Defiance to the maddening foe was every- 
where. 
He started with decision down the street 
The clanging noises of the city he left be- 
hind. 
He beheld himself an atom in this colossal 

force, 
His powers but the fabric of an egotistic 
brain. 



53 



AS A MAN THINKETH 

The rain beat down in gusts. 

A heavy limousine 

Ploughed its way 

Swishing and hissing 

Through the reflected objects 

That danced along the lighted thorough- 
fare. 

The wind made miniature hurricanes 

Of the reckless rain-drops 

That dashed across the drenched wind- 
shield. 

On the inviting upholstery within, 

Half hidden in the recessed tonneau, 

Sat a man and a woman ; 

"A damn fine night to entice a man out/ 

growled he, 
As he looked at her 
With scorching criticism. 

In a far away corner of the town 
Where the car line ends 
And cement walks give place 



54 



To patches of prairie, 
A sturdy fellow who helped 
Build ships during the war, 
After twelve hard months of toil and sac- 
rifice, 
Was forging his way home — 
Home to wife and baby. 

What matters the rain, the wind, the dark- 
ness . . . 
He gave his hat an extra twist. 
He dug his chin deeper into his coat 
And double-quicked his step. 
There was a song in his heart 
And a sparkle in his eye — 
For to him, Heaven lay 
At the end of that dark deserted street. 



55 



THE FADED GARMENT 

Down through the purple shades of dark- 
ness, 
Into the blackness of uninhabited night, 
When mankind was but a dream 
And earth a wilderness to be explored, 
Man dreamed a dream apart from God 
That he a separate creature was. 

Down in the recesses of his soul 
There crystallized a newborn hope 
That shaped itself into desire 
To break the dumbness 
Of the world which he beheld. 
And lo ! a companion to his dream 
Was born. 

The news, wirelessed by the winds. 
Sped on and on. 

Until it swept the very heavens in its flight. 
The earth till now so dumb 
Began to quake 

And every living thing awoke into some new 
desire. 



56 



The vision of the night gave way 

To dawn of day, 

Blessed with a Hght 

That could be seen a million miles away ; 

To man and woman. 

The world became a bower of green and 

golden light 
With spreading fields and undulating lands ; 
Through which the silver threads of running 

brooks 
And sparkhng rivers wound their way. 

The monster ocean rolled upon its course 
To unknown depths that lay against the 

sky; 
The sun-bleached sands, a spotless blanket 
Outstretched along its shores. 

The wooded vales and forests echoed 

melodies 
And all creation breathed harmony 
For earth knew but one language — 
Love. 



57 



AT THE DOOR 

We see hopes die 

And new ones born. 

We see the leaves fall 

And their fibre sown to the elements 

Winter snows come 

And buds reappear. 

We see old friends pass away 

And new ones arise ; 

Sowing that betrays weakness 

And reaping that levels the strong; 

Romances that enlighten 

And mysteries that appall ; 

Yet, living or dying, 

Life stands triumphant 

At the door. 



58 



HIS CROSS 

He met her and saw in her 

The cravings of his soul ; 

He stood bewildered 

With his great discovery. 

He learned to know her better 

With each day, 

And the more amazed became 

With what he saw. 

He thought perhaps his dreaming 

Would take wings 

And leave him where he stood 

Before they met — 

Alas ! it was not so. 

The love that was a joy 

Was soon transformed into a cross 

That must be borne 

Through pain and want, 

Through lonesomeness and barren wastes 

and wilderness, 
And yet his heart 
Dared not cry for sympathy. 



59 



And as he tramped life's thoroughfares, 

Some said that he was queer, 

Others thought he was as hard as adamant 

And thus alone he fought 

The silent battles of his life ; 

And no one ever knew 

Or gave a care. 



60 



RECOGNIZED 

He was always kind to her, 

He gave her luxuries she had never known. 

He lavished gifts upon her, 

That his friends might envy him the more 

For the prize which he possessed. 

She lent distinction to her position 
As his wife, 

And won for him recognition 
He never would have known. 

He often thought how like the one 
Whom he had lost she was 
And grew affectionately attentive at such 
times. 

She loved him deeply, but he knew it not. 
He questioned the indifference she dis- 
played ; 
The growing strangeness 
And lack of confidence she betrayed 
And grew perplexed because of it. 
He recognized a subtle pallor in her cheeks 



61 



And a hidden something in her eyes 
That made her more appeaUng in her sor- 
row. 

His thoughts grew serious 
In contemplating what he saw ; 
And suddenly it dawned upon him 
That she knew. 



62 



TO THE ROAD 

The biting winter nights have loosed their 
grip ; 

The smile of Spring has tempered their dis- 
position, 

The dark shadows that lined the hard streets 

Have softened into hazy gray; 

The stifling tenements breathe a purer at- 
mosphere ; 

The cold indifference of fellow-men is 
broken, 

The desire of the heart is leavened. 

The soft winds whisper — to the road 
Where hunger burrows less into the cheeks, 
Where poverty grovels not along unpleas- 
ant streets. 
Where the road of man lies straight 
Through broad unfettered fields; 
Where dawn is ushered in with gladness 
And no unwelcome noises smite the ears; 
Where noon is bathed with refreshing 
shadows 



63 



And the joy of living is recognized in 

quietude ; 
Where nature sings a lullaby at the close of 

day 
And gathers all its creatures in its arms. 



64 



WHY? 

The day was cold. 

The wind whipped his 

Tattered misfit clothes 

About his lean form 

And pinched his haggard face 

Into chiseled cameo. 

His bony hand 

Trembled as he held his hat. 

Two big tears 

Were slowly coursing down his cheeks. 

Across the street, 
I saw a shaggy-faced dog 
Blanketed to the ears 
CuddHng in the arms 
Of a passer-by. 



65 



YESTERDAY AND TODAY 

Childhood seems such a remote experience; 

Something so far away. 

Like a lost chord 

Or the distant noise of jangled bells, 

A dim festival of the past. 

The succeeding years 

So many cloudy conceits 

That evaporate like the mist. 

Yesterday I felt a sense of loneliness 

For much that is gone. 

Yesterday I stood alone in the 

Wilderness of despair. 

Today I am content with the present; 

Rejoicing in this journey of the universe 

And the romance of man. 

I see Life, not as a thing 

That is ebbing away, 

But as self-existent. 

I am a child of life. 

I am one with the all inclusive 

Infinite. 

Existence proves my heritage. 

66 



A VICTIM 

His heart grew restless with conflicting 
moods ; 

His thoughts of life usurped his peace ; 

His inner nature was disturbed 

Much like a river churned 

By the passing of two great boats. 

He sought a quiet spot in an adjacent park 

Where the warm sun threw a veil of gold 

Across the spotted green. 

But the sun could not blot out the by-gone 
days, 

The falling of decaying leaves, 

The broken wings of a butterfly — 

And other silent visitants. 

He looked upon, instead of through the 
things he saw. 

His thoughts too dark to see the light be- 
yond. 

He clung to this bewildered vision 

Until life became to him a tragedy. 



67 



THE DARKENED VISION 

Man beholds the great firnr^ment 

That outwits his understanding; 

The broad sky overhead 

That outreaches his vision ; 

The winds that encircle him, 

That outrun his swiftest thoughts ; 

The Heavens and earth in perfect balance, 

Gripped by the hand of no mere thing — 

And yet he lives and moves 

And has his being 

In the great Infinite . . . 



68 



SANDY 

Sandy had much to make him unhappy, 

Yet he never lost his smile because of it. 

Up to the attic loft he climbed each night 

With Umbs heavy but v^ith a heart 

That transcended into Heaven. 

Had it not been so 

His life would have been a tragedy. 

In the trying hours of heated summer 
nights, 

The moon and stars became his sole com- 
panions. 

He measured Hfe, not by the toils 

And hardships of the day 

But by the unspeakable things 

His youthful vision beheld. 

Earth gave to him so little, 

He had to look beyond the finite sense of 

things. 
Each day transformed the commonplace 
Into a thing of beauty. 
Only when the winter came 



69 



And beat the snowflakes 

Through the broken windowpanes 

And the old timbers in the eaves 

Snapped and cracked, 

And the knotted boards upon the floor 

Creaked and groaned and threatened 

To drop him into the darkness and the cold 

His cheerfulness was sorely tried. 

He was a lad whose courage seldom failed 
And only once his burdens overwhelmed 

him. 
It was the night his mother passed away : 
She, who bore for him all things. 
That "Sandy" might grow up to be a man. 
Since then he nourished one unquenched 

regret : 
Had Daddy only been like other Daddies 

that he knew. 



70 



AS SOMETIMES HAPPENS 

He left her many years ago 

For the busy city and the ways of men. 

A girl of sixteen was she then. 

But in her heart she held the vision 

Of a woman's love. 

He was a lad of noble mien, 

With an ambition born of a strong purpose. 

He hungered for the life he chose, 

Where men were tried and strong 

And daring hearts great battles fought. 

With youthful energy he toiled. 

Never wearied nor discouraged with his lot, 

A brave and confident pilot, 

With eyes fixed steadfast on his compass 

And the course ahead. 

The way was long and progress slow, 

And when impatience persisted to be heard. 

He grit his teeth without a word 

And to his purpose turned 

And toiled the harder at the task. 



71 



He felt the blight of poverty, 
The trials of lonesomeness and home de- 
sires. 
He trampled on these smouldering fires, 
And with strong will subdued 
The finer feelings in his breast. 

The efforts of his burdened years, 
Crystallized eventually into power, 
And brought to him his longed-for hour. 
The forging of the first link. 
In the great chain of events. 

With greater vigor he toiled on. 

Work gained for him the cherished power to 

dictate. 
He learned to master men, to hate, 
To countenance no opposition 
To his word or will. 

His storehouse overflowed with gains. 
He flourished as a tree watered by a brook. 
The course he planned, he ne'er forsook, 
Until he reached his goal, 
And, them — he found his heart was stone. 



72 



VALLEY OF DESPAIR 

In the great silence of my thoughts, 

Where lies a desert, a great lonely waste 

Where ofttimes in the dark days 

And in the long, lonely nights 

My weary footsteps roam. 

I know not why I choose such desert wastes. 

A land devoid of hope 

And where the sun-baked carcasses 

Sneer at human efiforts as a thing most vain. 

Where, beneath my feet. 

Lies the dust of centuries. 

Not a blade of grass or leafy stem, 

Only miles of crusty stretches. 

Spreading across this valley of despair. 



1Z 



AN AUGUST DAY 

The wind caught up the dust from the 

heated road. 
And smothered the weeds with its scattered 

upheaval. 
The sumac that hedged the fence 
Was transformed with ashen garments. 
The sun's fiery countenance 
Beat relentlessly down. 
The world lay helpless — 
Gasping — pleading. 
A life-long memory was burned 
Upon the hearts of a million 
Suffering beings today. 
At last came twilight; 

A huge blood spot upon the distant heavens, 
A splash of red that dyed the skyline, 
And the blazing dragon was consumed. 



74 



SOMETHING TO THINK ABOUT 

Thoughts are things to grapple with, 
Phantoms that flit across the senses ; 
Sometimes good, often otherwise. 
As the distant flutterings of a lute. 
Music to charm the senses to sleep — = 
Melody to soothe — 
Or jangled bells to jar ; 
Making captives of us. 
Or freeing us from a yoke of bondage. 



75 



THE GREAT ACHIEVEMENT 

Charity, the pearl of great price, 
The achievement of a Hfetime, 
Acquired by few, most needed by all. 
We preach immortality 
As a thing to be thrust upon us, 
Rather than a possession 
To be acquired by growth, 
Through the development of love. 



76 



HELL 

The people cursed and feared. 

Hatred swept across the land. 

The clouds gathered and hid the shining sun. 

A black dragon swallowed up the valley. 

The wind arose and the rain came. 

Whirlpools of water lashed the trees and 
shrubs 

And drenched the earth. 

Mad torretits flooded the fields 

And swept away what was weak and un- 
protected. 

Lightning rip-sawed the sky 

And thunder burst its bombs upon the way. 

Fiendish, hellish noises screamed and hissed 

And wrought confusion. 

When its wrath was spent 

There came a sudden lull, 

As if a voice had said, 

"So far and no farther." 

Silently the black demon shrank. 

A faint sun-spot was seen upon the hill 

Lengthening and broadening 



n 



Until it obliterated this monster of darkness. 

But the ravaged forests, 

The fallen trees and rain-swept earth 

Remained as witnesses; 

Effects of this dream of hatred, 

Evil— Devil— hell. 



78 



HEAVEN 

Today the people sang praises 

For the good things that had come to them. 

The sun's warm glow caressed the moun- 
tain-side. 

The valleys bathed in mist were dreaming 

The dreams of awakening youth. 

The atmosphere diffused the beauty of holi- 
ness. 

The perfume of buds and leaves 

And fragrant bark. 

The odor of dewy earth 

And the freshness of rollicking streams. 

Nature rejoiced 

In the richness of its possessions, 

In the light of constant birth, 

In the resurrection of slumbering ideas, 

In the awakening of good. 

In the realization of Heaven — 

Not as a location — 

But as Harmony. 



79 



THEIR COURTSHIP 

Along the narrow path he came. 

She saw him as he turned into the lane. 

Her lover, with strength in every stride. 

At last he stood before her at the gate, 

Her anxious moments of expectancy ful- 
filled. 

He greeted her just as he always did. 

Yet each time brought to her an overwhelm- 
ing joy. 

He held her hands within his own. 

He felt her dainty fingers quiver 

Like a captured bird. 

He heard her laughter ripple like a quiet 

brook ; 
He looked into her eyes, fathomless as the 

sea; 
And saw the pink in her fair cheeks 
Grow blushing red. He thought how 

wondrous fair 
His love had grown 
And visions of a new life opened unto him. 



80 



IN THE SILENCE— 

Far into the country I walked today- 
Through heavy stubbled fields 
And over dusty roads 
Until my nostrils rebelled, 
My flesh grew weary, 
And my feet (ever ready to carry me) 
Became self-willed and deaf to reason. 
And there, beside the road I sat, 
Looking into the far receeding heavens 
Like one lost in the wilderness. 

There, in the silence of my thoughts, 

I discerned the restlessness 

That drove me here ; 

The sly little foxes of hidden faults ; 

The hungry wolves of ravenous desires. 

Within its sanctuary I also found 

The unselfishness of God to man : 

The peace which I saw reflected 

In the brook which babbled through the 

woods ; 
In the great expanse of sunUt sky, 
In the soft refreshing odors 



81 



Of the grass, the trees, the shrubs — 

In the sweet melodies of the woodland 

songsters — 
In the joyous recognition of life. 
Which drove all weariness from my flesh, 
And restored to my feet obedient activity. 



82 



GRATITUDE 

The wind was screaming round the eaves, 
Pounding the window casements, 
Scattering the rain Uke gusts of shrapnel, 
Flattening the wet bullets 
Against the resisting glass. 

And yet there was a song within my heart 
That would not recognize the storm. 
That rose above discordant elements 
To heights where darkness never dwells. 



83 



GENIE 

A deep shadow of loneliness 

Lies about him — upon him. 

He crosses the room 

And looks out into the night. 

Black billows of clouds 

Smother the moon and the stars; 

The night is a wall of darkness; 

A distant engine is thumping 

Above the subdued noises from the street. 

A heavy veil of fog and gases. 

Hangs over the city. 

An occasional puff of wind 

Drives the fumes through the half-open 

window — 
He is thinking of a letter — her letter. 
"Good-bye, dear hope of mine," he reads, 
"I knew that it would come — must come. 

You who taught me the principle 

Of true living 

Will not be surprised 

That after four months 

Crowded with the greatest blessings of my 

hfe, 
Marred only by the specters of the past — 

84 



My struggling heart gives up its own 

self-will 
That greater peace may reign. 

Through many nights my weary heart 

Has cried. 

Sometimes I doubted 

Lest this thing I call myself, 

Would play traitor, 

Cheat me into playing false with you. 

Even now, in selfish moments, 

My cry comes back to me and rebukes me. 

Mocks me for the principle I would uphold. 

You who taught me this unselfed love, 

Will understand. 

You never questioned me about my past. 

Yet my woman's instinct told me 

That you knew. 

The great compassion in your eyes 

Revealed it to me. 

Strange I never shrank from you 

Because of it; 

Instead it drew me closer to you. 

Never shall I forget 

That night at the river's edge. 

When I stood there hesitating . . . 

Out of the dark abyss 

Your words fell upon my ears 

85 



Like a rebuke from Heaven. 

In my bewilderment, I heard you ask: 

"What do you know about the place 

You are choosing?" 

I felt ashamed, I shrank like a coward. 

My cheeks burned suddenly, 

In the darkness there. 

"Come," you pleaded, 

"Let me prove to you the world is not so 

bad." 
And you led me away like a child. 
I followed, not knowing why. 
Things became blurred, 
Someone said 'Taxi,' 
That was all — 
Until I awoke in my new home. 

A voice at my side urged me 

To have some bullion and toast. 

Though my body was faint 

For lack of food. 

My soul was famished 

For want of a few kind words. 

I looked about the room ; 

Ycu were not there — 

A sudden fear obsessed me. 

The maid, thinking I was chilled. 

Tucked the covers closer about me. 

86 



I was too weak that night to resist sleep, 

Yet I tossed about helplessly 

Calling for you. 

And in my distorted dreams 

I was moaning for you. 

Much has happened since that night. 

You have opened my consciousness 

To my true being. 

It was your faith in me 

That made me whole. 

I am going from you 

A better woman than I came. 

My leaving seems hard — 

In this, I have still much to learn. 

You taught me that life is the overcoming 

Of false appetites, false thinking, 

And that love is reflected in gratitude. 

My gratitude overwhelms me tonight : 

The hot tears burn my cheeks; 

I cannot express to you 

What I would say — I will not try — 

I can only leave it to your great heart 

To contemplate. 

You came to me 

Like a song in the night. 

You go with me, 

A melody from Heaven — "Genie." 

87 



DOWN AT THE MARKET-PLACE 

The heavy darkness of the night 

Is gone. 

A few pale stars 

Still struggle in the sky, 

Then flicker out. 

A haziness, 

Like a deep gray veil, 

Hangs across the Heavens ; 

Thinner and thinner it grows, 

Then, as if by magic. 

Disappears. 

The clock strikes four, 

Four melodious rings 

Whose measured music rolls on and on 

Till lost; 

A rooster crows, 

And then he crows again vociferously 

To greet the streaks of dawn; 

One by one earth's living things 

Awake. 

The thrill of life is present 

In the dawn. 



88 



The market-place is noisy now 

With many sounds. 

The weighted trucks, 

With creaks and thuds, 

Collide against the curb. 

The varied greens in great profusion 

Are spread along the stalls, 

And ere another hour is gone, 

A multitude will push its way 

Through a garden thoroughfare. 

Along the narrow walk 

The marketers appear; 

A huckster cries with energetic lungs. 

To sell his wares. 

Near by a woman. 

Wearied by her toil, 

Looks dumbly on. 

A world of human nature is revealed 

That often stimulates to mirth; 

But looking deeper. 

Into the hearts of struggling, burdened 

men, 
Pity awakes. 

Pity that the sons of men 
Must rivals be — 
Must ever battle 
To outdo their brother man. 

89 



REJOICE 

"Joy and gladness shall be found there, 
And the voice of melody" — 
Sang the prophet — seer of old, 
Sang the prophet, we are told. 

"Joy and gladness shall be found there 
And the voice of melody" — 
Words that charm us, as v^e read ; 
Royal promises indeed. 

Joy and gladness we should all know. 
To begin, we must rejoice — 
Must be thoughtful of life's blessings, 
Grateful for the little things. 



90 



THE WAYS OF MEN 

In the days of Pharaoh, 

When he commanded the taskmasters, 

That they should no more 

Give the people straw to make their bricks 

As heretofore — 

But go and gather it themselves 

And let more work be laid upon the men, 

Nor to diminish ought thereof. 

The taskmasters were made to say, 
"Fulfill your work, your daily task; 
Let no man dare mercy to ask. 
We'll flog you, if you stop to pray." 

And when the Israelites arose 
To leave Egypt and all its woes, 
Pharaoh commanded them to stay. 

*Twas then the Lord to Moses spake, 
"Now shalt thou see what I shall do 
To Pharaoh." 



91 



The rivers changed to blood and stank; 
Vegetation soured and grew rank, 
But Pharaoh harkened not thereto. 

Frogs came and covered all the land, 
Till man and beast no more could stand. 
In sore distress did Pharaoh call for Moses. 

And when a brief respite was gained, 
And peace throughout all Egypt reigned, 
Pharaoh's deceitful heart grew adamant. 

Then locusts spread unto the coast. 
Clothed every tree and twig and post. 
Till not a stick nor stone remained un- 
touched. 

And Pharaoh's servants all arose 
To beg of him to end their woes, 
That Moses might go out and serve 
The Lord, his God. 

And Pharaoh did again implore 
This Moses as he had before. 
And when the blessing was obtained, 
His evil heart grew harder still. 

Then plagues and pestilences spread 
Throughout the land and left it dead, 
But never one of Israel's children fell. 

92 



The people cried in abject fear 

And begged their king that he might hear, 

Lest all be dead men ere the sun arise. 

Then Pharaoh rose up in the night; 
Terror-stricken in his fright, 
And summoning Moses to him cried : 
"Begone with thee, haste thou 
And thy detested tribe." 



93 



IN THE ALLEY 

Down the alley he slowly ambled along; 

A bundle of rags and dirt and hair and bones. 

Two sunken eyes, 

Ashamed to look above the ground, 

A thing unclean to look upon. 

Though I condemned, 

A sense of pity gripped my better thoughts, 

And in a holier light, I saw the Man. 

Not the thing 

That men had pinned opinions on. 



94 



EVERYWHERE 

Everywhere is that great silence — 

Within you, 

Without you, 

Here, 

There, 

Everywhere. 

In noise and commotion, 

In the activity of life, 

In storm and war and pestilence; 

In the gray dawn 

And in the sombre night; 

Within the seclusion of forest 

And the barren stretch 

Of uninhabited plains ; 

Upon the trackless sea. 

And in the canyon's roar — 

In silence 

Are all things created ; 

Noise is but a surface condition — 

The speech of infants and of beasts- 

The cry of limitation. 



95 



BEYOND THE TURNSTILE 

There's a path by the mill pond 
Scarcely seen from the road 
That leads to a neighboring creek, 
Where sluggish water loiters 
Amid the tangled grasses ; 
Then through dense woods 
Plays hide and seek. 

And as you follow onward, 

The everwinding trail, 

Wondering where its course may lead 

Perhaps a bird or flower, 

Or just some trifling thing — 

Nothing more than a gaudy weed — 

May tempt you for a moment 

To halt upon your way. 

Or from your chosen path digress. 

Or the deep hush of the woods 

May hold you enchanted 

With its weird spell of quietness. 

But if adventure lure you 
To still pursue your way 

96 



Through brush and brake or fallen trees 

And slippery, mossy ground, 

You will be rewarded 

With freedom and a sense of ease. 

Before you lies the country, 
Patched with its fields of grain; 
And pastures dotted here and there 
With sheep and browsing cattle. 
And the great broad heavens 
And sunshine bathed in perfumed air. 

Here you can watch the toilers 

As they harrow the field 

Or later thrash the harvest grain; 

Here sip the bubling crystals 

Emerging from a spring 

Or saunter up a nearby lane. 

Where tall poplars sentinel 

A much secluded road, 

Straight to an intercepting hedge 

That tufts a gravelled footpath, 

Which, if followed southward. 

Will lead you to the water's edge. 

But should you choose to travel 
The path that skirts the hill 
Beyond the turnstile-gate you see, 

97 



You will receive a welcome 
Most gracious and sincere, 
The kindest hospitality. 

John Gates, gentleman, lives here: 
A man of sterling worth. 
And his dear wife, a noble mate 
Who, throughout these thirty years, 
Has brought much cheer to homes 
That once were sad and desolate. 

There's not a man or woman 

Within ten miles around 

But knows of somekind deed they've done, 

Days of sacrifice and toil 

And unrewarded pains 

Bestowed upon some needy one. 

So should you choose to follow 
The road that skirts the hill 
Beyond the turnstile-gate you see. 
You will receive a welcome 
Most gracious and sincere, 
The kindest hospitality. 



98 



THE FALSE 

Beyond the city's din, the tumult, the mad 

roar, 
The engulfing noises of the busy streets. 
The clanging of the cars, the honking 

motors. 
The heavy stifling vapors and escaping 

gases, 
Out of the maelstrom of inharmonious 

discord. 
Like one awakening from a mesmeric sleep, 
I try to flee. 

The hideous shadov/s try to follow close 

behind ; 
I close my eyes to blot out what I would 

forget, 
But find, where'er I go. 
My discordant thoughts go too. 
For in my consciousness they live 
And flourish and grow fat. 
An army of conspirators against myself, 
This grown-up dream that toils 
And sweats and swears and struggles on. 



99 



But like the green bay-tree 

That flourished and was gone, 

It too will pass — the crowd, the din, the 

strife, 
And all their attendant mimicry. 

A kaleidoscopic picture soon forgot, 
This darkened vision of unrest. 
This mortal dream we miscall life, 
That frets and dies. 



100 



MIRAGES 

All day his wearied soul struggled 

With the darkened thoughts within: 

With discouragement, woe — 

For sorrow, like the night, 

Gives false proportions to all things. 

His eyes were fastened on his shadow 

Just ahead, 

While all about him 

The sun in radiant fullness shone. 

The birds were cooing to their mates 

Or singing from their leafy bowers 

Overhead. 

God's love reflected everywhere 

Was lost to him. 

There came a beggar down the dusty road, 

Begrimed and haggard. 

Bedraggled were his clothes; 

He never looked to right nor left 

But stared abjectedly ahead. 

They passed each other; 
The man of sorrow 



101 



And the lonely one — 

And as they went upon divergent ways. 
The sun descended and blotted out 
The very shadows they had made. 



102 



THE REBUKE 

A stranger came unto my door, 

And knocked . • . and knocked ... and 

knocked ... 
At length I asked him to come in. 

I cared not who he was nor whence he 

came; 
I only knew my heart was sad 
And that my hope was dead. 

That darkness reigned without— within, 

And there I stood in silence 

Alone. 

I waited long, no one came in, 

Yet in the silence, heard I this rebuke: 

"Fools, because of their transgressions 
And their iniquities, are afflicted; 
Then they cry out to their God in their 

troubles 
And He delivers them from their distresses." 



103 



WHO KNOWS 

Out in the Park, I saw a man employed, 
Picking up the papers that the careless 

leave. 
Just then I saw a man I knew quite well, 
Who, in his pride, 

Sneered at the common things of life. 
I stood there pondering the two men in 

my thoughts 
And to myself I said, 
Meekness is proverbially a virtue — 
Perhaps he and I have need 
Of what this stranger 
Has an abundance to spare. 



104 



THE SONG OF DAWN 

The starry gems of night, 

Like candles to the sockets burned, 

Flash and sputter till they flicker out. 

Familiar objects scattered indistinctly 

Here and there . . . 

One by one attention claim. 

The veil of night is rent. 

The darkened vision but a fading dream 

And daylight, 

Like the infinite Presence 

Of an immaculate being. 

Sheds its radiant countenance 

Upon the myriad symbols 

Of its own creation. 

The trees, the road, the vi^ayside bush, 
The vast outstretching line 
That marks the earth and sky; 
The awakening village. 
The broad refreshing fields; 



105 



The tinkling bells and the catbirds' call 

Amid the vast silences: 

In every thought 

The joy of life 

Unfolding the facts 

Of eternal existance. 



106 



MAKE-BELIEVE 

Come, sit thee down and tell me 

Once again the story I so oft have heard, 

In the twilight here. 

Here where the evening shadows 

Gently smooth the wrinkles from one's brow 

And blot them out, like the winding path 

That fades before my very eyes, 

Though it leads down to the water's edge. 

The winds that whisper in the trees 
Bear messages that tell of thee; 
The hymns of many summer nights 
Ring in my ears — 
Just such a night as I see now, 
Mellowed by the rising moon, 
With playful shadows at my feet. 

The same golden waves upon the rippling 

waters 
Tripping with the flowing tide 
That laps the shore. 
The same measured beat as I heard then. 



107 



Tonight, how strange, how sad without thee. 

I wish our love had been 

As faithful as some things I know. 

Ah, then, I would not have to live again 

These hours in this make-believe. 



108 



THE OFFENDERS 

How often have I sat alone 

In the solitude of night 

And watched the stars blink, 

And seen the moon 

Mischeviously look down, 

While I beheld the racing clouds 

Bent on some mysterious errand. 

Then in my heart I would extol 

The wonders of life 

And voice the gratitude I felt; ' 

When upon my exaltation would fall 

The shrill cry of a night-hawk, 

Or the weird hooting of an owl. 

Revealing the evil 

Which dares not show itself by day 

But with insolence proclaims itself 

From darkness' sheltering depths. 



109 



HOW WONDERFUL 

To breathe the freedom 

Of those hours after school; 

To put aside your cares, 

With the books you toss upon the shelf; 

To sniff the vapors from the kitchen stove ; 

And strive to guess the secrets 

Of the evening meal. 

To hear your mother's greeting 

Ere the lock clicks in the door. 

To see the boys collect upon the vacant lot, 

And hear their noisy ecstasy 

As you hurry to join in. 

To feel that spell 

That makes all things seem glad 

Because earth is one big playground 

For you and your friends 

And home the place 

Where love and good cheer dwell. 



110 



THE SEAMLESS GARMENT 

He remembered the fields 

Where he heard the song of the thrush 

And the melody of the meadow-lark; 

Where the blossoming magnolia 

Scattered its perfume in the spring; 

Where the hush of the summer noon 

Lay upon the hillside ; 

Where at sundown 

Dwelt the spirit of a golden day ; 

Then he looked about him 

In his city house, 

Where great paintings hung upon the walls, 

And he sighed and shook his head 

Because he missed the fields. 



Ill 



THE ONE THING 

"What seekest thou, what wilt thou have," 

A voice does often ask 

In moments when our hearts are sad. 

And face to face with Truth, 

Perhaps bewildered, we reply: 

''Health or wealth or youth or love — " 

It matters not only 

That it brings one peace and happiness. 

Our tired feet are bruised with much 

walking. 
Our arms hang limp against our sides. 
Our eyes, once sparkling with the light. 
Look listlessly into the dawn. 
Oft have we striven 
Through toil or sacrifice or self-will 
To gain that something we would have. 
And now the very thing we need so much, 
We find we did possess and threw away. 



112 



LIKE THE WIND THAT SIGHS 

Youth, bright-eyed, 

Is tripping to the song of melody : 

"How wonderful," he cries, 

"This thing which we call life! 

Away with tears and vain regrets. 

Away with haggard cheeks and pinched lips. 

Young hearts beat fast; 

And feet quick-step to measured time. 

The universe aglow with light 

Dreams not of night!" 

The dizzy world whirls on, 

Into tomorrows. 

Youth finds himself divested of his frock. 

He sighs today; 

Thought whispers— thou art growmg old, 

Merry-making has become 

Noisy prattle to his ears. 

Age has thrown a veil across the light 

And to a minor key 

Has changed the melody. 

Life is swiftly passing 
Into yesterdays. 

113 



Friends have changed, some are gone — 

Like fading landmarks and vanished homes. 

" Tis strange" he thinks, 

That v^rhere I thought to find 

A thing most beautiful, most real, 

I awake as from a dream; 

And all that once seemed true 

Is like the v^ind 

That sighs and is gone. 



114 



LIMITATION 

The morning promised much 
And to expectant thought gave wings. 
The radiant glow of sunHght 
That warmed the dewy sod- 
That loosed the tongues of song-birds 
And to the cloistered buds gave eyes 
Vanished before the darkness 

Of onrushing clouds. 

How like the mystery of every mortal dream 

That measures time with every breath it 
takes, 

And measuring 

Builds the very barriers 

That preclude the light 

And makes all mortal thought finite. 



115 



ANTIPODES 

She wanted to be kind to me; 

And so she mentioned many things 

That might have pleased — 

That might have made me grow more vain, 

Had I not known down in my heart 

That they were but fancies 

Of her own true self. 

As a starless night differs 

From a sunlit dawn, 

Or a storm-tossed sea, 

From a pebble-bottom brook; 

So far estranged were her pure thoughts 

From mine. 

And I could not make her understand. 



116 



DARKNESS 

"There went up a mist from the earth," 
So read we from the book of Genesis. 
And that's why men through countless ages, 
Have groped in darkness and despair. 
Not knowing whither they were being led, 
Nor why their weary efforts proved so vain. 
Only as illumined thought has pierced the 

night 
Has right prevailed and man regained 
His heritage. 

We wondered at it all and oft have sighed 
And pondered as to what and why this 

mystery. 



117 



IN THE WORDS OF A PROPHET 

I often ponder on the things of life 

That make us glad or sorrowful on the way ; 

The pleasures that desired wealth bestows; 

The joys that mutual love inspires ; 

The complacency of gratified desires; 

The satisfaction of hard fought 

Battles won — 

And then I think of those that struggle 

To the end: 

Of patience unrewarded through long years ; 

Of sacrifices that never receives praise ; 

Of love craved for 

And throughout life withheld; 

Of toil that brings pinched cheeks 

And weariness to old age; 

Of ideals shattered and grown commonplace. 

Well might I cry with bitterness and despair, 

Did I not know 

That, "As a vision of the night, 

So shall it vanish." 



118 



A DREAM OR A TRAGEDY 

Is it a dream or a tragedy? 

A few short months ago I saw you — 

A pearl of youth, 

A sentient thing of beauty 

Throbbing with the joy of living, 

With eyes that radiated hidden emotions 

And lips it required fortitude to resist. 

Today the sun's glow is just as bright; 
The same creek still idles 
Along a familiar clump of trees 
Where the cool shadows 
Often welcomed you and me. 

Upon the beach 

A multitude of bodies flecked 

As by an artist's brush; 

With arms and legs exposed, 

But none so fair as yours. 

The same well-remembered faces 

I saw last year — 

And the year before — 

They are all here — I miss but one. 



119 



The same program year by year: 
I see the people dine and dance, 
Delight in warm embraces, 
Music, laughter, and flirtation. 

Try as I will, my thoughts outrun the scene 

To where the evening shadows lie thick 

About your quiet resting-place, 

To where the deep blue heavens overhead 

Beckon one to loftier heights ; 

Where a mighty chorus sings an anthem 

In the solitude of the evening hours. 



120 



ABOVE AND BELOW 

Sixteen floors "Up — 

The human mass below, 

Like two decks of cards 

Shuffled together by some magic energy 

And pushed along; 

Thousands upon thousands pressing on. 

I wonder at it all : 

This restlessness I see below. 

For overhead the sky is calm, 

Scarcely a cloud to mar the azure dome — 

Suggesting the presence of the Almighty, 

Unmindful of the petty noises : 

The clanging bells, 

The rumble of grinding wheels, 

The smoke and vapors rising 

From the throats of ten thousand buildings ; 

All are naught in this great sea 

Of limitless space. 



121 



THE LAD UPON THE FENCE 

I see a lad sitting upon a fence, 

As he often did ; 

Watching the sun go down, 

Dreaming of the time when he would see 

The land that lies afar off 

Beyond the horizon ; 

Where the great prairie 

Stretches out its flat palm 

To the distant Rockies, 

And spreads its fingers 

Far to the north, the south, the west. 

Often had he read of that untamed land, 
Where the mountains rise a thousand feet 
Above the timber-line 
Giants- 
Dark and mysterious against the limitless 

heavens, 
Where the dust of ages, 
Has congealed into a crusty blanket, 
Through whose chalky surface 
The sage-brush and cactus 
Have pushed their callous growth 



122 



Like warts and blemishes upon a human 
hand. 

Where Hzzards sun themselves upon flat 

rocks 
And sun-baked carcasses tell of tragedies 
Long forgotten. 

Where charred railroad ties and broken rails 
Tell of deserted mines; 
And the trail of empty huts- 
Silent as sepulchres — 
Proclaim the vicissitudes of man. 

Where scattered trees hem the mountain- 
sides 

And solitary pines are outposts for the 
woods beyond ; 

Where the wolf secludes itself by day 

And the mountain lion ravages unseen. 

Here upon the highest round of a distant 

peak, 
Where the wind whirls and whistles, 
Where the dizzy depths lie hidden in mist 
And the cold cloudless sky 
Is an impenetrable window of mystery- 
Life overpowers this chrysalis body 
123 



And wings its way across the wide chasms 
Into the deep abysses. 

Rivers have become snake-Hke paths 

And the winding roadways 

Yellow ribbons that circle around huge 

cones. 
Scattered towns and villages 
Lie along the foot-hills, 
Milestones of civilization 
That lead to the broad Pacific. 

As the evening shadows gather 

He fancies he can see the old stage-coach 

Rattle down the gully, 

Across the shallow creek. 

The steel-rimmed wheels crunch the hard 

stones 
And shots as from a skirmish fire 
Break upon the coming night 
And crack against the mountain sides. 
It needs but a few masked men 
And a familiar whistle. 
To recall again 
That lad upon the fence, 
And Daddy calling from the kitchen door. 



124 



REALIZATION 

It was an August day. 
The sun had baked the streets 
Until the reflected heat 
Made the atmosphere stifling. 
Those who had not deserted the city- 
Sought the parks and the beaches. 
A sense of irritation pervaded his being 
And made him ungrateful for many com- 
forts he enjoyed. 

Upon his ears fell the familiar strains of 

a violin, 
Many a night was he forced to hear 
This neighbor laboring hour after hour — 
Tonight he was not resentful — 
Perhaps he recognized the perseverance, 

the sacrifice; 
It may have been the plaintive tones that 

touched him, 
Or perchance his own imaginings. 

He forgot the sweltering heat, the irritation. 
His own selfish inclinations. 



125 



For he heard the cry of, a soul, 
Struggling battling, stumbling — 
Sometimes to the point of desperation — 

Rising each time through persistent effort 

To greater accomplishments, 

More satisfied endeavor, 

To the attainment of that spiritual thought 

Which breaks sense-limitations 

In the realization of unfettered capacities. 



126 



SOMETHING TO THINK ABOUT 

A buzzard was volplaning in circles, 

High above a clearing in Gray's Woods, 

Maneuvering with strategy 

On its downward course to earth. 

A dead thing lay outstretched upon the 

ground 
A hideous sight for thought to dwell upon, 
Yet food for hawks to feed upon. 



127 



IDLE HOURS 

A child will cast his shadow in the sun 
And see himself reflected twice his size 
And straightway feel a pride, a sudden 

power, 
And think himself a giant for an hour; 
Alas ! these are but dreams — 
They are life's idle hours. 



128 



CARRY ON 

What is this cry we hear 

Throughout all life? 

That in our early youth 

Drove us with incoherent words 

To mother's arms ; 

That is heard today 

In an infant's wail ; 

That in the stillness 

Of some great desire — 

In pursuit of that we think 

Would bless — 

Overpowers us or leads us on. 



129 



SONG TO THE DAY 

I have loved thee 

In the gray dawn, 

When the mists hung 

About the hills ; 

When earth was a mystery 

And moon and stars and sky were 

Wonderlands ; 

When childhood days were glorified 

With dreams of life; 

In the fervent heat of noon, 

When turbulent desires 

Drove resisting thought 

Like wind-tossed vv^aves before a gale; 

In the struggle with discouragement; 

On the brink of tempestuous fears ; 

In the agony and sweat of sore defeat ; 

In the shades of afternoon. 

When all was hushed ; 

When the rhythm of the sea 

In measured time broke its cadences 

Upon the gray outstretching sands ; 



130 



When darkened hills lay peacefully 
Agamst the clear blue sky; 
When through the purple depths of night 
The mellow moonbeams crept into the 
valley ; 

In the wake of restless sleep, 
When visions of the night perplexed 
And the wind, toned to the hour. 
Moaned the distant roar of the sea. 

Again in the welcome light of dawn, 
Joyous with the thrill of living things 
I love thee, glorious day of today. 



131 



THE UNDISTURBED 

Out of the great silences where God dwells, 

Eternal creation flashes its ideas. 

I see a village nestled in the hills, 

Where the morning sun makes sparkling 
crystals of the dew ; 

Where the peace of Sabbath morn, 

Makes heaven of the rolling fields ; 

Where rest from toil is a glad event; 

Where hollyhocks and poppies and sun- 
flowers 

Are well known landmarks. 

I look upon outstretching lands, 
Plowed by honest hands; 
And behold again the furrowed soil 
Transformed by harvest time. 

Often have I witnessed the gray silences 
That wrap the hills at dawn ; 
The distant slopes that brighten with sun- 
shine, 
These same warm hills grow sombre, cold; 
Drifting snows ermine the plains, 



132 



speeding winds fling the frozen spray, 
Like geysers, high into the air. 

Today the same great silences I see, 
Where multitudes throng the streets : 
Amid the jarring testimony of many noises. 
In the faces of thousands that mingle with 

the crowds, 
That push their way into the towering tombs 

that engulf them. 
The silence of the Infinite is in their hearts, 
Their thoughts reach out to worlds unseen, 
Each one molding destinies 
Unknown to the other. 



133 



PRESS OF 
THE LIBBY COMPANY 



